Queen of the Crossroads
by DanikaHawke
Summary: A series of short stories about Guinevere, a new character in Crowley's chess game of Hell.
1. Chapter 1 - Dammit, Crowley

QUEEN OF THE CROSSROADS

Just so we're clear, I'm not literally the Queen of the Crossroads, although I should be. I've been serving as a crossroads demon for centuries, not that anyone really noticed, so you can imagine when Crowley rose above the ranks of me, I was pretty upset about it. And when he became the King of Hell? Well, let's just say I was not in the mood to serve him.

My human life was pretty normal. My parents took me to London in the early 1300s, and at the tender age of 23, I died from the Black Death. It was lovely enough, I suppose. if I had known that London was as horrible as the crap little town from the Sahara that I was from, I would have insisted to move back home, but my parents probably wouldn't have listened to me, anyway. I'm not very sentimental about my human life, it wasn't terribly impressive. I'm much more invested in this life.  
Being a crossroads demon is, after all, pretty exciting work. I get to travel the world, and meet some very interesting people. My resume is impressive, really. In the 1700s I made more contracts than just about anyone, including that Scottish bastard, but did Lucifer or Lilith reward me? Hardly. Still, I had no choice but to fall in line with the rest of them, for fear of being sent back into hell, and tortured. However foolishly, that fear dissipated when that slimy bag of haggis sat his plump little arse on the throne, and I purposely stopped collecting my contracts. Sure my hell hounds were restless, but the satisfaction of knowing that one day, Crowley would have to address my rebellion was satisfying enough for me. But then his hounds came for me, and I had a sudden realization; I may have to meet the bastard face to face. Eventually I did, and this is what happened.

It seemed like I was imprisoned for decades. I was kept in a dank cell, with no light, not even anyone to talk to. I'd sing show tunes to keep myself from losing myself, but the guards were always bringing me down. As far as I am concerned, I should be on broadway. In fact, that's where I got most of my contracts for a very long time. 10 years is likely how long I was actually, and just a blink of an eye to someone like me. I knew it couldn't have been very long I was down there, because a repeat customer of mine tried summoning me several times. Of course, not even a summon could have released me from my cell.

Finally, the day came when Crowley marched his proud self down from the top of the food chain, to visit little old me. I remember it quite vividly; I was slumped against the wall, hands bound above my head, and frankly, I was more uncomfortable than I had ever been. I was singing a tune from Phantom of the Opera, my usual go-to musical when nothing else seemed to lift my spirits. When the cell opened up, he walked in kind of like he was superior to me (which, technically he was, but my pride would never admit to it), crossed his arms in a huff, and sized up my defiance.  
'Guinevere,' he said, quietly.  
'Crowley.'  
'That's Your Highness to you, my dear.' His voice grated across my ears, and all I wanted was to lash out. But then I would lose my perfect body. I didn't dignify him with a response, but instead held his gaze. He grinned at me, like the stupid little prick he was, as he knelt down to my eye level. 'Fell off the wagon, did we?'  
I looked him over, dressed in a ridiculous suit, and a dull tie. It bothered me, so naturally I mentioned it. 'You know, you should get a boldly coloured tie. It would brighten up your look.'  
Crowley laughed, but it was dry and humourless. 'Is that so?'  
I nodded. 'Maybe try a white suit once. Mix it up a bit.'  
'I don't like it when my demons don't collect on their debts,' he said firmly.  
I should have backed down, but I didn't. 'And I don't like it when a boy half my age tries to intimidate me.'  
He held my glare for a moment, before he stood to pace the tiny shit hole of a cell he stuck me in. 'I've looked a lot into your past. That Plague was something else, wasn't it?'  
'It was a riot. People stopped bathing, tired to kill all the witches and the poor kitties, it was good times. Too bad you weren't there to see it.  
Crowley chuckled again, and stopped to stand before me. 'Under any other circumstance, I would like you. And I don't usually like Londoners.'  
'Yes, well, we don't like you, either,' I said flippantly. I let my head fall back onto the brick wall behind me, closed my eyes. 'If you're going to torture me, then please let us continue this conversation. Otherwise destroy me and get it over with.'  
'I have no intentions of killing you, my dear. In fact, I thought I might make a deal with you.'  
'Oh, how quaint. My favourite thing!' I still didn't look up to him, but hope had risen inside me, that I might actually escape my containment. I wouldn't dare let him know how badly I wanted out, but of course he already knew I would sign away my soul, if I could.  
'I want you to go back topside, and do your job properly,' he finally said.  
'Just like that? No hell fire or dogs gnawing at my feet?'  
'I find it best to not torture possible allies, before the cross you.'  
I finally looked up to him. He stared at me with intensity, and it would have intimidated me had I not been delirious from boredom. 'A possible ally? Why would I align myself with you? You weren't half the demon I was on the crossroad.'  
Crowley shrugged, aimlessly looking around the cell. 'I may not have made as many contracts as you, but I had the ambition. The vision to push myself up in the hierarchy that you lacked. Otherwise, I wouldn't have usurped the throne, and it could have been you talking to the rebellious ones in chains,' he narrowed his eyes as he knelt down again before me. 'You and I aren't so different. We're both immortal, very strong demons capable of endless mayhem. So, why would I get rid of someone so much like myself?' 'Fond of yourself, are we?'  
'Wouldn't you be?' Crowley grinned, and with a snap of his fingers, my cuffs released me, and my arms fell to my sides. I sat upright, but didn't take his hand when he offered to help me stand.  
'Why are you really releasing me?'  
'All in due time, Guinevere. Just know that you owe me your entire afterlife.'

So that's the story of how I met Crowley. In a dark, lonely cage he swooped in and saved me, and how I have to be loyal to him, because I am actually terrified of hell hounds. He restored to me my ability to go back up where the people are, which I should be grateful for, because the depravity of Hell is like none other I've ever seen. Which is saying something real, I died from the Black Plague. Too many whispers of rebellion amongst his higher up, and a lot of plotting against him. The price I had to pay for my relative freedom was to inform him of impending attacks or wandering minds, and it was not an easy task. But that is all in the life of a Crossroads Demon.


	2. Chapter 2 - Gwen's Mansion

QUEEN OF THE CROSSROADS

Part 2 - Welcome to Guinevere's Castle

'There are so few things left in life to enjoy, wouldn't you agree?' Guinevere taunted, as she strolled down the nearly empty streets of some small town she'd already forgotten the name of. Before her, walked a man who'd come to visit her at the crossroads precisely 10 years ago, almost down to the minute. Startled, the man spun on his heels to face her. It took him a moment to recognize her; Her face had become more cruel, her glare hardened and even her hair, once curly and wild, lay calm and flat around her shoulders.

'Gwen?' The man choked out. Upon his recognition, he remembered the deal he made with the woman, one drunken night, not realizing this woman was, in fact, in a position to make his wishes come true. 'You... You look the same,' he said unsure of himself.

Gwen was sure he was trying to stall for time, maybe think of an exit plan, but no one could out run Baelfire, her favourite hound from Hell. 'Well, I can't say the years have been kind to you,' she smiled widely at him.

A flash of anger crossed the man's face, but it died down quickly. He dropped his voice to a whisper, backing away from the woman. 'Look, if I had known I'd made a real deal with you, I wouldn't have signed anything!'

Guinevere couldn't help but laugh. 'Even a drunk man should know better than to sign something with your own blood. Aren't you even a little superstitious?'

The man, whose name Guinevere could not recall, startled again. However this time, it was to the sound of Baelfire, as he growled behind his owner, begging for her to let him loose.

'I'm sorry friend, but you're not getting away from me,' she spoke sweetly, falling into step with the man as he retreated. 'We made a deal.'

'And it was a worthless deal!' The man retorted, throwing his hands up in the air.

'Was it? Did I not give you the money you asked for?'

'Well, yes, but I-'

'Did your business not succeed? Practically overnight? Did you not get the girl you've been pining over for since childhood, despite the fact she had never even glanced at you before?'

The man's lip trembled, as if he were about to cry. 'She never loved me!'

'Well, obviously. Have you taken a good, hard look at yourself? You're a drunk with a sham business, and now it's time for me to collect what is mine.'

The man paused, as if considering something, and then pulled a gun from his pocket. Guinevere tilted her head as she stared down the barrel, and laughed.

'Is this your little friend?' he asked, taunting him again.

The man didn't bother with a response, but instead put a bullet between her eyes. Guinevere reeled back, but never fell. Instead, she straightened her back, and looked back to the man. 'You know, I do pity you,' she said quietly, as she wiped away a trickle of blackness oozing from the bullet in her skull. The man started to tremble before her, hands shaking. He shot at her again, this time landing a bullet in her shoulder. Guinevere didn't miss a beat. 'You should know, I did want to help. But not even I could have stopped-' Another shot. She stepped back, but still did not fall. Of course she could feel the pain, and the stinging of the gunshot was more like a wildfire spreading across her body, but she would get in her final speech, bullet wounds be damned.

'But not even I could have stopped your company from going belly up within three years.' She laughed softly, then corrected herself. 'Well, I could have, but that wasn't a part of the deal.'

The man unloaded the remaining four shots into Gwen's chest before he turned to run. She sighed, looking down to her ruined shirt, as she signaled Baelfire to capture the man's soul. 'Drag him downstairs for me, will you?' The hound took off with a vicious growl, his paws striking the ground with excitement.

Her first collection since being released from Crowley's little house of horrors, and she got a chest full of bullets, and one to the brain. Of course, she didn't expect everything to be perfect, and she had an entire list of people she had to cull, but she couldn't walk around like she was now. The only logical thing to do now, was to go get some new clothes. It was just as well, since Crowley sent her up wearing jean shorts and a tank top. Maybe it was meant to be some sort of joke, or maybe that was just how he thought the cool kids were dressing, nowadays. She headed for the closest clothing store, sticking to the shadows. It was easy enough; the moon hung high in the sky, bright enough to light the town, but the lack of streetlights made it easy for her to go relatively unnoticed through the was lucky enough to find a store with decent clothing, and after cleaning herself up she adorned herself with a black bomber jacket, dark blue jeans so tight they may have cut off her circulation, if that were something she dealt with, and a simple pair of black heels. If she had money, she still wouldn't have left any behind for the patron of the store. She slipped out the back where she had entered, and set off for her next adventure.

Down in Hell, Crowley sat at his throne, silently flipping through some mind-numbing paperwork. Eventually, a woman entered his throne room, sharply dressed in a white shirt and black skirt, and hair slicked back. She obviously thought very highly of herself.

'Guinevere has come through. Her first soul has been collected,' she said blankly, with a heavy accent from who knows where.

'Good.' He dropped the papers to his side, and sighed. He had been bored as of late. Not running around for the Winchesters had freed up a lot of his schedule, but it was only a matter of time before the two of them would summon him for something else.

'I don't think you should trust this girl,' the woman said, folding her arms. 'I don't understand why she was let out of her cell at all.'

'Well, that's a bit above your pay grade, so I'm not surprised,' Crowley replied, hardly paying much attention to her.

'I don't think you can control her.'

'I don't need to. She has something I want, and I intend to get it from her one way or another.'

'Then why not just take it? It's not like she could over power you, your highness.' Her words came out like poison.

Crowley knew full well that if she tried, Guinevere would indeed stand a chance at taking him down. Whether or not she knew that was unknown at this point. 'She's too carefree to try. Does she look like the kind of woman to accept any responsibility?' The woman before Crowley shrugged, and her eyes darted away from him. Perhaps she knew it, too. Gwen was strong, nearly as strong as he was. In her good days, she'd taken down bands of demons who crossed her, and even had been contracted on multiple occasions to slaughter packs of wolves. All of this, she did by herself, because no one was willing to work with her. If she wanted something bad enough...

'She's too unpredictable,' he finally said. Much of her past was obscured by her previous employers, rogues who worked under Lucifer. Of course, he had people who worked for him in secret as well, and none of them knew about each other. 'I have a job proposition for you.'

Guinevere roamed around the countryside for some time, bored. Her hound lurked around somewhere, probably playing with the human down in Hell, but she didn't particularly need him around. She walked until the sun rose, despite the easier means of transportation she could have taken, and found herself walking passed a Roadhouse. She wondered if hunters were still as popular as they used to be, if there were any left at all. 100 years ago, people made a living hunting down demons such as herself. Often they were helpful, except when they thought they could take her down, as well. She stood before it, tempted to go inside, but before she made a decision, a woman appeared behind her.

'And who would you be?' she asked, barely stirred by the presence.

'My name is Rose. I've been sent to keep an eye on you.'

Guinevere turned to see a woman dressed like a promiscuous lawyer; professional, without a hair out of place, but a tight skirt that stopped above her knees, and a white blouse which allowed the sight of a lacy red bra underneath. Her accent was unplaceable, and none to be desired. She smiled to the woman, but turned away and kept walking. 'Sorry Rose, you're not my type. I don't really like people who are taller than me.'

Rose snickered, and fell in step behind Gwen. 'Well at your height, I imagine finding people who aren't taller than you would be a challenge.'

'I don't like a lot of people,' Gwen replied shortly. 'Why did he send you?'

'Why do you think?'

In Guinevere's mind, she flattered herself into thinking Crowley was intimidated by her. She wanted to believe that one day, she might be able to kill the man, but knew it was only a fantasy. 'I said I would follow his orders, and I will.'

'Well then perhaps we should leave the middle of nowhere, and head down to Kansas where the den is.'

Gwen shrugged, and pressed on. 'I have a lot of contracts to collect on. Crowley can wait.'

'You cannot tell the king to wait.'

Gwen stopped in her tracks, and turned to the woman. She tried not to let her annoyance surface, but couldn't seem to stop it. 'The King can eat me. I have a job to do, late collections, a reputation to uphold.'

Rose reached out a well manicured hand with a sigh, and grabbed Gwen's shoulder. In the blink of an eye, their surroundings changed, and they stood before a seedy looking bar with a blinking sign above that read "Girls Girls Girls".

'You'll be wise to watch your words.' Rose then turned to head into the bar, and Guinevere huffed.

'I can't watch my words, you tart. They're invisible,' she whispered.

When Gwen entered the den, she was surprised to find how clean it was. There was a bouncer on the inside which made her prove she wasn't human, and some crappy music was playing over speakers twice her size by the stage where girls were half-heartedly dancing around in skimpy outfits. She followed Rose to a small, circular table where she was told to sit, and Rose went off to… To do whatever it was Rose did. A demon she had once been familiar with approached them, grinning.

'Well, well, well. Look at what the dogs dragged up from Hell. Heard about your little sabbatical, Gwen. Must have been fun.'

Guinevere sighed. 'Sure thing, Caleb. They held me my own celebration.' Caleb was the kind of demon everyone loved to hate; He was rather shady and often smelled like hot garbage. Last time she saw him, he begged for his life in a small cave about 150 years ago. She'd have been happy to go another 150 years without seeing him again. Even worse, he was French.

With a sigh, Caleb folded his arms. 'Well, I would ask you what the hell you were doing here, but I honestly couldn't care less. Instead, I'm going to ask you what the hell you're doing here.'

'Firstly, that wasn't a question.' She tilted her head with a grin as she spoke. When Caleb didn't respond to her, she shrugged her shoulders 'Actually, I was brought here by some black eyes in a pencil. I wouldn't come near this rat hole, if I didn't have to.'

'Is that so?' Caleb asked. His face twisted into an annoyed expression, one Gwen was all too happy to pull out of him.

She nodded. 'Quite so. So, instead of badgering me with your horrible accent, why don't you do your job, get me a drink, and go harass her instead.' Though the tone in her voice was a warning to him, she still smiled sweetly, confident that he knew better than to press any further with her.

Without a word, Caleb turned back toward the bar, leaving Gwen to herself. She leaned back into her chair, scanning the people in the bar. A lot of them were drunks, demons who obviously had too much time on their hands, unlike she who was blessed with a job from Crowley, the all mighty. She rolled her eyes at the thought of him, and before she could complete another though, Rose was standing by her side again.

'You're going to stay here for a while. There's a recently abandoned house across the street. There's shouldn't be too much rot or anything, but I'm sure you'll find a way to make do with these generous accommodations.'

Gwen could hear the subtext in her voice, knowing that she couldn't not stay there. For whatever reason, Crowley wanted her there, and lest she be put back into that cell again, she would just have to suck it up. Rose whisked her out of the bar, despite her protests. Rose was rambling on about how she had to stay focused, and remember what she was here for, but Gwen wasn't listening. After a long speech about how she should be grateful for being so well "taken care of" and whatever bull shit she was spewing out, all Gwen wanted to say was:

'Your voice sounds like a chipmunk with a pinecone up its ass.'

Instead, she said, 'understood.' and just followed the wretch into the house.

The house was nice enough, with a pleasant picket fence and decently decorated interior. There were blood splatters on the wall in the living room, which complemented the burgundy curtains nicely. The couch had some tears in it, like a cat one day had become irrationally angry and decided the couch was his worst enemy. Of course, there was spoiled food in the fridge and a green loaf of bread on the counter, but otherwise, it was livable.

'And, why exactly do I have to stay in this specific house?'

'Because you were told to.' Rose said, very matter-of-factly.

Gwen laughed. 'If I wanted to get away from you, I could.'

'Perhaps. But you couldn't get away from Crowley.'

Again, Gwen was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. What she wanted to say, was; 'Oh yes bitch, I can. Don't let my one slip-up make you think I can be so easily detained.' But instead, Gwen simply nodded and dismissed Rose, telling her to report to her master, and get her special little cookie.

After Rose had left, not without a hard, long glance full of the loathing and disgust that fed Gwen's soul (if she had one), she sat down on the abused couch, propped her feet up on the table, and sat silently as she wondered how she became Crowley's slave, too.


End file.
